I've just received my review copy of Dear World & Everyone In it: New Poetry In The UK, edited by Nathan Hamilton. I'll briefly comment on it, here, in weeks to come, but my main review on the collection will appear in The Wolf magazine. What I will say now, and here, is that, surely, anyone interested in following the development of the young British poets generation of the last 15 years will want to own a copy of this collection, or at least read it, as it forms a part of the ongoing discussion.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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